Yama by Aleksandr Kuprin (best ereader for pdf TXT) 📕

“Then that’s the truth? That which you said about the place?⁠ ⁠… You understand⁠—I’m somewhat uneasy at heart!”

“Ah, what do you mean, Margarita Ivanovna? If I said it, then it’s right, just like by the National Bank. Listen, Lazer,” he turned to him of the beard. “There will be a station right away. Buy the girls all sorts of sandwiches, whichever they may desire. The train stops here for twenty-five minutes.”

“I’d like to have bouillon,” hesitatingly uttered a little blonde, with hair like ripened rye, and with eyes like cornflowers.

“My dear Bella, anything you please! At the station I’ll go and see that they bring you bouillon with meat and even stuffed dumplings. Don’t you trouble yourself, Lazer, I’ll do all that myself.”

In another car he had a whole nursery garden of women, twelve or fifteen people, under the leadership of an old, stout woman, with enormous, awesome, black eyebrows. She spoke in a bass, while her fat chins, breasts, and stomachs swayed under a broad morning dress in time to the shaking of the car, just like apple jelly. Neither the old woman nor the young women left the least doubts as to their profession.

The women were lolling on the benches, smoking, playing cards⁠—at “sixty-six,”⁠—and drinking beer. Frequently the male public of the car provoked them, and they swore back in unceremonious language, in hoarse voices. The young people treated them with wine and cigarettes.

Horizon was here altogether unrecognizable; he was majestically negligent and condescendingly jocose. On the other hand, cringing ingratiation sounded in every word addressed to him by his female clients. But he, having looked over all of them⁠—this strange mixture of Romanians, Jewesses, Poles and Russians⁠—and having assured himself that all was in order, gave orders about the sandwiches and majestically withdrew. At these moments he very much resembled a drover, who is transporting by railroad cattle for slaughter, and at a station drops in to look it over and to feed it. After that he would return to his coupé and again begin to toy with his wife, and Hebrew anecdotes just poured from his mouth.

At the long stops he would go out to the buffet only to see about his lady clients. But he himself said to his neighbours:

“You know, it’s all the same to me if it’s treif or kosher. I don’t recognize any difference. But what can I do with my stomach! The devil knows what stuff they’ll feed you sometimes at these stations. You’ll pay some three or four roubles, and then you’ll spend a hundred roubles on the doctors curing yourself. But maybe you, now, Sarochka,”⁠—he would turn to his wife⁠—“maybe you’ll get off at the station to eat something? Or shall I send it up to you here?”

Sarochka, happy over his attention, would turn red, beam upon him with grateful eyes, and refuse.

“You’re very kind, Senya, only I don’t want to. I’m full.”

Then Horizon would reach out of a travelling hamper a chicken, boiled meat, cucumbers, and a bottle of Palestine wine; have a snack, without hurrying, with appetite; regale his wife, who ate very genteelly, sticking out the little fingers of her magnificent white hands; then painstakingly wrap up the remnants in paper and, without hurrying, lay them away neatly in the hamper.

In the distance, far ahead of the locomotive, the cupolas and belfries were already beginning to sparkle with fires of gold. Through the coupé passed the conductor and made some imperceptible sign to Horizon. He immediately followed the conductor out to the platform.

“The inspector will pass through right away,” said the conductor, “so you’ll please be so kind as to stand for a while here on the platform of the third class with your spouse.”

“Nu, nu, nu!” concurred Horizon.

“And the money as agreed, if you please.”

“How much is coming to you, then?”

“Well, just as we agreed; half the extra charge, two roubles eighty kopecks.”

“What?” Horizon suddenly boiled over. “Two roubles eighty kopecks? You think you got a crazy one in me, what? Here’s a rouble for you and thank God for that!”

“Pardon me, sir. This is even absurd⁠—didn’t you and I agree?”

“Agree, agree!⁠ ⁠… Here’s a half more, and not a thing besides. What impudence! I’ll tell the inspector yet that you carry people without tickets. Don’t you think it, brother⁠—you ain’t found one of that sort here!”

The conductor’s eyes suddenly widened, became bloodshot.

“O-oh! You sheeny!” he began to roar. “I ought to take a skunk like you and under the train with you!”

But Horizon at once flew at him like a cock.

“What? Under the train? But do you know what’s done for words like that? A threat by action! Here, I’ll go right away and will yell ‘help!’ and will turn the signal handle,” and he seized the doorknob with such an air of resolution that the conductor just made a gesture of despair with his hand and spat.

“May you choke with my money, you mangy kike!”

Horizon called his wife out of the coupé:

“Sarochka! Let’s go and stand on the platform a while⁠—one can see better there. Well, it’s so beautiful⁠—just like on a picture!”

Sarah obediently went after him, holding up with an unskilled hand the new dress, in all probability put on for the first time, bending out and as though afraid of touching the door or the wall.

In the distance, in the rosy gala haze of the evening glow, shone the golden cupolas and crosses. High up on the hill the white, graceful churches seemed to float in this flowery, magic mirage. Curly woods and coppices had run down from above and had pushed on over the very ravine. And the sheer, white precipice which bathed its foot in the blue river, was all furrowed over with occasional young woods, just like green little veins and warts. Beautiful as in a fairy tale, the ancient town appeared as though it were itself coming to meet the train.

When the train stopped, Horizon ordered three porters